Tender Loving Care
by Scribble2Much
Summary: Season 8 Finale Tag: One thing has never changed; when Sam is sick he needs his big brother. Spoilers for 8:23, "Sacrifice".


**Tender Loving Care**

**Summary:** Season 8 Finale Tag: One thing has never changed; when Sam is sick he needs his big brother. Spoilers for 8:23, "Sacrifice".

**Author's Notes: **Wouldn't you know, my muse comes up with a Season 8 finale tag just before the start of Season 9. Oh well, better late than never.

Thanks to Ericka Jane and Casy Dee for the beta services. You guys rock!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own or profit from Supernatural but I did borrow a few lines of the dialogue from episode 8:23.

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A dewy-eyed girl had once said Sam was "adorable" when he was sick. That wasn't the word Dean would have used to describe him. For one thing, the first sign of pain or discomfort on his brother's face usually had Dean fighting off panic. He never let on, but initially he always felt like he was about to lose it if it seemed something bad was happening to Sam. In fact, whenever his brother showed any signs of distress, the first five seconds of Dean's response time were usually spent pulling himself together. Then, big brother mode would trip in and he would work out a plan of action.

All of that aside, "adorable" was definitely not the word to describe a sick Sam.

"Clingy" was more like it.

From infancy until now, Sam clung to his brother whenever he was ill or hurt. As children, this had posed a major headache for their Dad when Sam came down with something contagious. John would try to separate his sons and little Sammy would howl for his brother. When the tears started Dean would nag his father until John relented and nine times out of ten, Dean ended up sick too. Then Sam would feel bad and want to comfort his big brother and the cycle of nagging and crying would start up again.

A particularly memorable episode played out when Sam caught the chicken pox. John had rented adjoining motel rooms to keep the boys apart but the walls weren't thick enough to mask the sound of Sam sobbing in pain and loneliness. As soon as John went out, for any reason, Dean would sneak in to see his little brother, cuddling and comforting his sibling in spite of Sam's highly contagious condition. John had not been amused when his older son came down with fever and broke out in spots.

Sammy could also be "stupid" when he was sick.

That affliction came on as he got older and often tried to pretend he was OK when he clearly wasn't. As a full-fledged teenager he became even more idiotic and started refusing his brother's help. The soothing words and comforting gestures Sam had craved from Dean when he was a little boy were rebuffed in his late adolescence. As Sam grew more discontented with their itinerant lifestyle and their father's refusal to accommodate his academic ambitions, Dean felt the brunt of Sam's resentment and Dean fought back.

When he found his sympathetic words being thrown back in his face, or his offering hands being slapped away, Dean returned fire with cutting remarks and crushing neglect. On one occasion when Sam suffered some pretty bad slashes at the hands of a knife-wielding ghost, he'd railed while Dean was attempting to stitch him up.

The tirade disparaging their father for subjecting them to such life-threatening circumstances proved too much for Dean. In his heart, Dean knew Sam was right; this was no way for them to be living; but he was powerless to stop it. Their father's obsession with finding their mother's killer left no room for compromise and too often Dean found himself in the middle of escalating fights between the two people he loved more than his life.

This time though, as he listened to his brother's rant about their father, his frayed nerves gave way.

"Shut the hell up," he yelled, throwing the first aid kit across the room because it was a better option than punching his injured brother. "I've had it up to here with you griping about Dad."

"And what about him?" Sam argued. "What about what he's doing to us?"

"He's doing his best," Dean figured if he shouted it loud enough one day it would be true.

"To raise soldiers," Sam qualified. "To build a three-man army to fight this endless war that I want no part of."

"You don't have a choice," Dean barked, knowing it was a plea more than a statement.

"Yes I do," Sam had countered. "I got a mind of my own, and somewhere in that thick head of yours, so do you."

The remark had Dean discarding the sterilized needle on the filthy, motel room floor, aborting the patch up job in midstream.

"Since you're so smart," he spat, "You can figure out how to stitch yourself up."

The parting shot had been delivered with Winchester perfected precision but it had given Dean very little satisfaction to have the last word. And much later, when Sam had fled to California in a bid for freedom, Dean would realize that yelling match had been one of several signals Sam had sent to advise Dean of his impending departure. So although he often said that Sam left without warning, on honest reflection, Dean realized his brother had given plenty notice in the months before he fled. It was Dean who had chosen not to read the signs.

So Sam left, but tragedy brought him back. In the almost nine years since they had reunited, each of them, at different points, had admitted that if it hadn't been Jessica's death, something else would have drawn them back to each other. During that time, as they'd faced heaven, hell and everything in between, Dean had nursed his brother through more accidents, injuries, illnesses and emotional hurts than either of them cared to recount.

After almost thirty years of care-giving, "vulnerable" was another word Dean would use to describe a sick Sam. This was an off-shoot of his little brother's inner drama queen which rose to fore when Sam felt unwell. For whatever reason, a rising temperature, a violently upset stomach and most other ailments brought on the declarations that put Sam's heart squarely on his sleeve.

Once while Dean was gently rubbing Sam's temples to quell a headache, his nine year old brother had told him he loved him more than Lemonheads, Sam's current favorite candy. Dean, who would have sworn on a stack of bibles that he wasn't coddling Sam but merely trying to make sure the kid didn't die on him, had been rendered speechless by the confession.

That wasn't the only time Sam had knocked him dead with a sickbed outpouring. They'd been "I can't imagine my life without you," when Dean had pulled an all-nighter to nurse Sam through a fever and then there was "I hope you stay with me forever" once when Dean had cleaned Sam up and tucked him into bed after a violent episode of food poisoning.

As Sam grew older gestures replaced words.

A lingering hand on Dean's arm or a squeeze of his hand would say thanks for whatever had been the ministration on any particular occasion. Dean always recognized the gratitude that was being expressed but he missed the sweet mutterings once they'd stopped.

However, even when Sam reached the prickly and then rebellious stages of his adolescence, there was one word he never stopped saying.

"Stay."

It was what always came out when Sam needed his brother with him. Dean had never told Sam but that single word could stop him in his tracks, change his plans and plant him firmly at Sam's side. Because from heaven to hell and to the ends of the earth, no one would ever mean more to him than his little brother.

Yet when Dean stood staring at a desperate, wild-eyed Sam, who was ready to take his own life to complete the third trial, he realized his greatest mistake. Every being alive – and many that were dead – knew his brother meant the world to him, but somehow he'd failed to communicate this single truth to Sam. And when he came face to face with his little brother, and saw Sam was desperate to the point of being suicidal, Dean realized the tragic consequences of that failure.

He could only stare in horrified disbelief when he shouted the warning; "Metatron lied. If you finish this trial, you're dead," and Sam's response was a disconcerting, "So?"

Then began the dialogue that Dean knew would be replaying in his head until the final hour of his life.

"You want to know what I confessed in there?" a terrified, despondent Sam had asked him. "You want to know what my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again."

"Sam-" Dean had tried to cut Sam off, but his brother was determined to get it all out.

"What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again? Who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel, another vampire? Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just-"

"Hold on," this time Dean meant business. "Do you seriously think that? Because none of it is true. Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that set you back on your heels. But, Sammy, don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that."

Maybe Sam did see it, because he let Dean hold him. For those few seconds when his little brother embraced him, Dean didn't see the man but the little boy who had always clung to his big brother when it all got to be too much. He had wanted to say more to quiet Sam's fears and obliterate any doubts, but then Sam had collapsed in pain and the angels had started to fall.

Yet even though the world seemed to be on the cusp of yet another calamity, Dean still had only one top priority; take care of Sam. He managed to get his brother out of the church and then drove like a mad man until it appeared that the sky had stopped raining angels. He found a backwoods motel, where the few guests and staff appeared blissfully unaware that apocalypse part two may well be upon them, and he got a room. The place wasn't the Waldorf but it was quiet and clean and it would give him a chance to figure out what Sam needed.

It took a bit of work, but he managed to get Sam cleaned up and into bed. From his assessment, it appeared Sam was running a fever and having severe body pains but – knock-on-wood – he at least seemed stable. Even so, sleep was not an option for Dean so he took up position for a bedside vigil in case his original prognosis changed.

He sat on the bed watching Sam for almost an hour before his heart rate finally slowed down when Sam sank into a peaceful slumber. Uncertain what the future held, Dean took his brother's hand in his.

"O.K listen," he said softly, not sure if Sam could even hear. "Once, when you were nine, you told me that I meant more to you than your favorite candy. I never told you this Sammy, but you lit my whole world up when you said that. And as much as you were saying I meant to you, to me you were all that and more. I was stupid not to tell you then, so I'm telling you now. You do whatever you have to do to get through this and get back on your feet because nothing means a damn to me if you're not around."

After giving Sam's hand a reaffirming squeeze Dean got up from the bed. He hadn't meant to go far but once contact was broken a half-sleeping Sam began feeling around for his big brother's hand.

"Dean?"

It was barely a murmur, but Dean could hear the apprehension and fear.

"Right here, Sammy," Dean responded, repositioning himself on the bed and grasping his sibling's palm once more.

"Stay," Sam pleaded, linking fingers with his brother.

Dean broke inside.

"Not going anywhere, Sammy," he whispered as his eyes filled up. "Not now and not ever."

**THE END**

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This is for all the faithful fans of my favorite show. Happy Season 9 Everyone!


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